Author: OzirisXP, Posted: Wed Jun 21, 2017 6:29 AM, Post Subject: This is Familiar [P][R]

As a bard, traveling was one of the things he couldn't avoid, not that he would want to. However, sometimes he picked a destination without a proper reason why. Maybe it was the landscape he wanted to write about, or perhaps it was the inviting calm and peace? The Volcano could be a good setting for one of his stories, maybe the quest of a dragon hunter, or, even better, a tamer? If nothing else, the serenity allowed for clear thoughts and a clearer mind. Perhaps he could write about a monk on a spiritual journey? So many ideas and so little time…

Yet, nothing inspired him. The Island indeed was a sight to see, but it was so boring. He never thought of himself as a good bard. If he was, he would certainly be able to do a lot more with such an amazing scenery, but it didn't do much for him. Of course, that wasn't the only problem. His stories had some poor wording and his poems were lacking in meaning. If it wasn't for the lute, he would've given up long ago. It was truly easier to impress people with the speed of his fingers and melody of the wires than with the poems he wrote. He walked towards the sea, trying to find something of interest, something inspiring.

The gentle waves on the shore seemed to have an inviting rythm he could certainly appreciate, a slow Largo he rarely performed in. Whistling a melody to the tempo of the water, he thought about composing an Aria or a Serenade. Even if he wasn't a musical genius, he could compose a few lines in his head, and he started right away, his whistling becoming dissonant every other moment in a search for harmony. 

Absorbed in his own song, he lost track of time and place, walking trough the sea on several occasions. However, upon hearing the gracious sounds of a violin, he broke out of his trance for a diffrent one. Everything else became unimportant as he searched for the origin. If there was another performer, he had to find them. They always make interesting company, and he surely couldn't miss out on a music piece.

Having found him, Tarian was simply stunned. He was different than most entertainers. He didn't know what it was, but he had a feeling it was more than just appearance. He kept his distance, afraid he might interupt the performance. It wasn't every day you hear such a melody on a beach. Surely he could wait until the piece was finished.

Author: Dorian, Posted: Thu Jun 8, 2017 9:33 PM, Post Subject: This is Familiar [P][R]

There were too many people on the beaches of Apoy. Well, too many for his taste at least. Those of all different walks of life would gather their coins for just one weekend spent on the humid island. Usually it was for the ‘fun’ and ‘relaxation’ of the beach, springs, and other such attractions that Apoy had to offer. And while he couldn’t deny the breathtaking beauty that it was, it was constantly littered with…people. They tarnished it, were the burnt grain of rice in an otherwise perfect dish that some could brush aside, but he could not.

Well, he wasn’t here for them. Not that he ever sought out others to begin with unless there was some other dark purpose. Except for one…He hated thinking about him-no. No, he hated how much he wanted to think of him, found himself constantly looking over his shoulder as if he might somehow be there. It was stupid, he despised the feeling he gave him; the near pleasurable drop in his stomach if his name dropped from his lips. Why in the world did people want to be around each other when there was the possibility of this feeling?

In any case, that was partly why he was here. Kuval was a syreni, and the closest he could find to that were the merfolk that on occasion would come too close to land. Apoy was ripe with them, for even those of the sea were not immune to the enjoyment these beaches could bring. His Kuval was no fool though, and he knew he wouldn’t see him strolling up on these beaches with newly formed legs like he so often saw him. It was odd to think that two species so similar in their makeup were so vastly different. Where the Syreni were primal, stealthy, and cunning, the common merfolk were ruled by their emotion to the point of putting themselves so dangerously close to land dwellers.

Then again, if not for that then he wouldn’t be here today. Oh, there was still a particular woman of the sea he could bleed for information, but she had almost become accustomed to it by this point. There was only so much Kuval was willing to tell him, and he wouldn’t force that information for…some reason he still couldn’t quite grasp. Respect, maybe? The possibility made him shudder. Even he couldn’t deny the unspoken respect he held for him though…Kuval was one of the very few. That didn’t mean he liked admitting it, even to himself.

At the sound of children at play, he felt his nose wrinkle ever so slightly, and was thankful that the sun was so high in the sky to hide the brief increasing glow of his markings. Children…they were the worst, clumsy, sticky hands, not paying attention. He was thankful he hadn’t been around them too much in his youth before being stranded. He stopped at an outcropping of jagged rocks that stretched into the waves, and welcomed the spray of the ocean as he sat down on the wet surface. It was cold and soaked straight through his clothing, instantly calming him.

His violin case was held at his side and he set it down next to him, unconcerned about it being so close to water. He practically lived there and had more than enough preparations both natural and magickal to keep it safe. It was strange, knowing that he’d be using it purely for its intended purpose today and not some metaphysical one. But if the merfolk were weak to one thing, it was music. They were the metaphorical moths being drawn to his flame, and his eyes glinted as he pulled out the bow. A few plucks at his violin’s strings and it was tuned and ready.

What to play though…? He considered briefly getting into the water and playing there, the sound was haunting while submerged, but no. Not today. Instead he stayed seated on the edge of his rock; one leg crossed over the other, his bare toes mere inches from the lapping waves. His eyes closed as he lowered the bow to the strings, and began his piece with a slow drawing pull.